


dreams of elysian fields

by hishn_greywalker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Dean, Death, Gen, Season/Series 02, we_take_five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hishn_greywalker/pseuds/hishn_greywalker
Summary: west of the fields, long gone.A new profiler is called on to the case of Dean Winchester and this is what he sees.





	dreams of elysian fields

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://we-take-five.livejournal.com/profile)[we_take_five](http://we-take-five.livejournal.com/)'s fic-a-thon. Prompt, 'languid': spiritless or lifeless. Title and summary lyrics from R.E.M. Beta by the ever lovely [](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile)[veronamay](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/). Like she said, I'm not sure Dean would ever end up like this, but I wanted a broken Dean and this is how I broke him.

_Do you know why you're here, Dean?_

_Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead._

_Dean, can you tell me where you last saw Sam?_

_Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead._

_How about Ellen. Do you remember where you last saw her?_

_Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead._

_Do you remember what happened, Dean?_

_Dead, de-_

The agent turned the knob to turn off the sound from the room in front of him. He stared through the glass into the room at the man who sat shackled to the table across from one of the agents.

"This is all he says?" the agent asked, glancing at the woman next to him.

The other agent in sighed. "That's it, no matter what we ask. We can avoid saying anything about his brother for weeks, and that's still it." Her voice stiff with frustration as she spoke.

The agent stared at the broken man in the room beyond the two-way mirror, a man with dull eyes and a pale complexion, too skinny for his own good, like he'd dropped the weight far too fast, and completely ignorant of his surroundings. He was staring at the table, hands in his lap and his shoulders stiff.

"Do you know what happened to his brother?"

The woman sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He killed him."

The first agent glanced at her sharply, frowning. "What?"

"We don't know why. Something happened. He killed him. We found him next to the body, holding his hand, the gun on the ground beside him, saying he was so sorry, that he'd tried, that he couldn't save him. We're not sure what he meant by any of it. As soon as we separated him from his brother's body, he stopped talking. When we tried to question him, he was silent. He didn't say anything for several months."

The male agent frowned. "Him killing his brother, that doesn't fit with anything in his profile. His brother was the one thing he genuinely cared about. He killed four agents when they had Sam cornered."

The woman shrugged. "Well, he killed him. It's on tape and everything. We don't know why, and they didn't fight beforehand. In fact Sam looks like he's grateful for it, when it happens. We don't understand any of it."

The agent turned back to the two-way mirror, staring intently at the man at the table for a long time. "The woman, Ellen, she doesn't know anything?"

The other agent snorted. "Oh, she knows plenty. But she won't talk and we don't have any way to make her. All she'll tell us was that the boy's father got her husband killed, and she'd run the two boys out of her girl's life with the news. But that was years back, four, maybe five."

"You get a hold of the girl?"

The woman paused, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them back up and looked at the other agent. "She's dead."

There was a long pause. "How?"

The woman shook her head. "We don't know. She was torn apart by something down in Texarkana."

"Was Winchester around then?"

The woman shook her head again. "Hendrickson was on his tail, has him in Rapid City, South Dakota, then."

The man nodded slowly. "There anyone else we could try and bring in, to snap him out of this? A friend? Ex-girlfriend? Family?"

The woman sighed. "His father's been missing since 2006, presumed dead. He's got some family on his mother's side, but they say that haven't seen him since he was real young, and even then it wasn't often. They didn't think much of his father, apparently. Other than that, there was a man named Singer, Robert Singer. Ran a junk yard for years, but the guy's gone missing since Sam died."

"No one knows where he went?" The agent frowned. "There's got to be someone who knows."

"Everyone we talked to wouldn't say a word. Wouldn't say a thing against this kid, wouldn't tell us a thing about Singer. Just that the father and Singer were good friends."

"Really?" the agent looked surprised. "They all know what Winchester did?"

"That's the worst part. They all looked relieved, though almost all of them tried to hide it, when we told them Dean had offed Sam. They still wouldn't say a word after we told them we had Dean. I don't know what kind of phone tree these people have going on, but a week after we started asking about Singer, not one of the people he ever talked to would speak to us at all."

The agent shook his head. Everything about this case was weird, creepy. Winchester was still sitting in the same spot, staring down at the table. The agent turned the knob for the sound again, tuning back into the other agent's interrogation.

_Do you remember Jo, Dean?_

_Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead._

_Do you know where she died, Dean?_

_Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead._

_Dean, can you tell me what you were saving Sam from?_

_Doesn't matter. Sammy's dead._

The agents in the room behind the glass stared, listening and watching intently. Winchester was rocking some now, not looking up from the table, his voice still flat and lifeless.

"He's been asked that question before, hasn't he?"

"Plenty of times. We've never gotten this kind of reaction out of him."

"And he's been here eighteen months?"

"Almost. In a week it will be eighteen months," the woman told him, without looking at any of the files.

"And this is the first time he's ever said anything else."

"Yes."

"Hm." The man frowned. "Strange."

_No, it does matter. Can you tell me what it was?_

Dead, dead, dead. Sammy's dead.

Tell me what you were saving Sam from, Dean.

Dead, dead, dead. Doesn't matter, Sammy's dead.

Yes, Dean, it does matter.

Nothing matters, Sammy's dead. You can't have him, Sammy's dead.

Who can't have him, Dean?

Yellow eyes, tried to take him. Can't have him, Sammy's dead.

Who has yellow eyes, Dean?

Dead, dead, dead. Can't have him, can't keep him.

Who was trying to take Sam, Dean? Your Dad?

Sorry Sammy, sorry Sammy. Can't save you, can't let him have you. Dead, dead, dead.

Sorry, Sammy. Can't have him, Sammy's dead.

The agent in the room behind the glass felt just as confused as the woman looked, but if he had been able to see the agent sitting across from the rocking man, he'd have seen the tell tale flash of yellow in his eyes.  



End file.
